Page 66 of Beautifully Wounded

Oh, my god.

What is happening?

I stiffen as his large hands give my thighs a gentle squeeze, and then slowly part my knees further apart.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Just playing the part, darlin’.” He drawls, “How many eyes are on us right now?”

Frowning, it takes me a moment to realise what he means, but then my gaze shoots over his shoulder, to the open door, where multiple sets of eyes are cast in this direction from the courtyard.

“Um… A lot.”

He chuckles. “Should we give them a show?”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “No. No. No way.” I repeat my words, hoping it’s really damn clear that I’m not doing… that.

“Relax, Angel. It won’t hurt.”

Ohhhh no. Why am I feeling hot? Like all over. This hoodie is suddenly way too hot. My clothes suddenly too much to bear on my skin. Why is there an ache building between my legs?

Dammit. This is embarrassing. I tried to ignore it, but it was there the moment I woke this morning, in addition to teasing me in some of my dreams over the last couple of days. When I dream, they are usually nightmares, but for some reason, I had a sex dream for the first time in over a year, and now… I ache.

Ringo leans in, getting close and I stiffen, all while I have the urge to lean in closer.

“Wait,” Imutter breathlessly, feeling confused and scared and way too turned on to make any sense of anything, but then Ringo steps back quickly, turning and slamming the door closed.

A round of boos and disappointed awes meet our ears from the other side, and Ringo chuckles, turning to face me and leaning against the door.

“Don’t worry, Angel. I won’t touch you unless you beg me to.”

My mouth drops open, and I glare at his smug expression as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re a prick.”

He wags his brows. “You already knew that.”

“I actually thought…”

I can’t finish the sentence, both from embarrassment and fear.

“What? That I was going to fuck you?” he snaps, dropping his arms and closing the space between us. “Just like you were doing out there, I was playing the part. It was nothing more than a show in order to fool them all into thinking you’re actually mine.”

Stepping between my legs again, his bearded chin brushes closely to mine as he hovers a breath away, and for a moment we just stare at each other, breathing the same air.

“Just for the record, Angel, because you clearly need it spelled out for you. Iwillnever andhavenever forced myself on a woman. If you want me between your naked thighs, I can assure you, it’ll be because you asked.”

A whimper escapes me, and not because I’m scared or hate his words, but because I’m fighting the urge to lean in. To see what it would be like to feel his lips against mine. What it feelslike to kiss a man with a beard. To simply kiss a real man. Not a boy. Not a teenager. But a man that knows how to please a woman.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, misunderstanding my whimper. I don’t respond, and a deep growl rumbles in his chest. “Answer me, Angel.”

“No.” I give him what he asks for, not able to refuse him when he asks me like that. It makes no sense to me.

“Hmmm, then perhaps you’re afraid of the way you’re feeling?”

Shit. How does he know?

Oh god. Am I that readable?

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